Page
references are to The Compact Bedford Introduction to Literature, 6/e

PROLOGUE
(p. 976-981)

The priests of
Thebes come to Oedipus to plead for help as they might come to a God, bearing
suppliants' sticks wrapped in wool. They are at their wits' end. Oedipus comes
out of the palace to hear them, and he assures them he wants to help. He informs
all assembled that he has already sent Creon to Apollo's oracle to learn from
the god what must be done to end the plague.

We learn that Oedipus
came to Thebes in another time of crisis, when it was beset by the Sphinx. Oedipus
solved the Sphinx's riddle and liberated Thebes and the people made him their
ruler. But now a horrible plague is killing everyone and everything, and they
need his help again. Thebes is in a state of emergency.

Even as the play
opens, right away, we get a feel for the complexity of Oedipus' character. He's
not someone we can easily pigeonholehe's a multifaceted man. From his
very first words, we can see that he's a very proud, self-important individual,
yet he's pretty obviously no tyrant. On the contrary, he seems genuinely caring,
empathetic, pained, and respectful of the people's suffering. He seems to genuinely
want to help; he doesn't lock himself inside the palace and leave them to their
own misery. He's no Prince Prospero in Poe's Masque of the Red Death.
Oedipus fate is wedded to the peoples' fate, and he accepts this; it's a selfless
act. On the other hand, Oedipus seems less than altruistic when he explains
exactly why he thinks it's important to find Laius' killer as the oracle demands:
if the killer is still at large, he might strike again (this time at Oedipus).
That's a good bit of self-interest.

A few dramatic
ironies do emerge even in the prologue. Remember, the audience already knows
Oedipus' ultimate fate... So,

When the priests
proclaim Oedipus a man of God, a man who has "god with him" -- the
audience is already shaking its collective head at that gross miscalculation.

The priests
don't really know, as the audience does, that Oedipus has already defied Apollo's
oracle by fleeing from Corinth.

Oedipus' vow
to uphold Apollo's oracle may seem a little hollow, since the audience knows
he's already tried to defy the oracle's prophecy once before.

When Oedipus
calls himself "the land's avenger," the audience already knows that
it is he, in fact, who is the source of the plague.

Parados (p.
981-82)
The priests, in the prologue, addressed Oedipus as they would address a god.
Oedipus does nothing to discourage that displaced devotion; he's very proud,
and seems to relish the role of "savior." He's done it once before.
But his pride is excessive, what the Greeks called "hubris," and his
hubris is a sign that things have gotten out of balance. Oedipus is flying a
little too high. The Chorus, representing the public at large, the voice of
calm, reason, and order, in a democratic society, immediately reestablishes
the proper social order of things. The first word they utter, "Zeus!"
instantly reshuffles priorities. Only the gods can be humanity's savior. Their
supplications to Zeus, Apollo, Athena, and then Artemis are in sharp contrast
to the priests whose supplications were aimed at Oedipus, mere mortal.

The first several
stanzas, then, are suppliant prayers to the Gods, a proclamation of their powers,
their divinity.

Next the chorus poetically paints a picture of the crisis that has overtaken
Thebes. "Like a great army dying, no sword of thought to save us "
The dead are flying from the earth "like seabirds winging west, outracing
the day's fire down the horizon, irresistibly streaking on to the shores of
Evening, Death " The plague is killing Thebes. Only Zeus can "thunder
Death to nothing!" Only Apollo and Artemis can save Thebes.

Oedipus' first
line in the next episode underscores his hubris (his excessive pride). "You
pray to the gods? Let me grant your prayers." Oedipus shows clearly there
that he wants to be as powerful as the gods. (He wants free will!) Those lines
make the Chorus' prayer stand out that much more.

Episode (1):
pp. 983-89

Oedipus sees himself
as Thebes' savior: "You pray to the gods? Let me grant your prayers."
Maybe Oedipus' desire here can be called hubris, or excessive pride-his tragic
flaw. In psychoanalytic terms, you might say he has a "Christ complex."
(Never mind the "Oedipus complex ") But another way of thinking
Oedipus' aim here is that he has a high degree of altruism, a grand sense of
social responsibility-he's a leader who wants to successfully lead the people
out of their misery; it's what he does, what he's done before, who he thinks
he is. His whole identity is wrapped up in his sense of his own power, his own
abilities. Remember, he ran from Corinth, ran from Delphi, ran from Fate. He
thinks he's done pretty well so far. Thebes voluntarily made him ruler because
of his intelligence, not because he conquered it-so he thinks (turns out he
killed the previous king, his own father). So when Oedipus makes his offer here,
he's not aware that he's committing any sin of pride. This is just how he sees
himself. If anything, that's the real tragedy. Because he's seeing blind, as
Tiresias soon informs him.

Oedipus addresses
Tiresias, at first, very respectfully, but he soon gets heated, losing patience.
Tiresias is accusing him of horrible deeds, of being a murderer, of not knowing
the truth about his own past. This hits a sore spot, as Oedipus has been in
that position before, and it led him to leave his home in Corinth. They clash.
Oedipus' emotions turn on a dime, and we see his pride and his anger erupt.
Only the Chorus, representing the calm, rational will of the people (which Oedipus
responds to, in fine enlightened Athenian fashion), can restrain him from lashing
out against Tiresias. But he takes his shots, calling the prophet a "pious
fraud" and "senile."

Tiresias, for his
part, is also angered at Oedipus' accusations, and he blurts out the truth,
in riddles, calling Oedipus the real blind man, which is the truth. He rubs
salt in old wounds, bringing up the issue of Oedipus' parents. "Who is
my father?" Oedipus wants to know. He has that vulnerability. But Tiresias
won't go further. He leaves Oedipus with a riddle to solve, because Oedipus
is the famous riddle-solver. It's a thrust.

Buried here, in
one line on p. 999 is one of the play's great themes, expressed by Tiresias-Oedipus
will cause his own downfall-"character determines fate."

Chorus - First
Stasimon (p. 989)

The chorus expresses
the public's horror at the crime; they know the criminal will soon be caught.
That is what Apollo has demanded. Whoever he is, running will be useless now:
"His time has come to fly, to outrace the stallions of the storm, his feet
a streak of speed-cased in armor, Apollo son of the Father lunges on him, lightning-bolts
afire! And the grim unerring Furies closing for the kill." They know the
killer must be rooted out. But they aren't so sure Tiresias is right; they refuse
to convict Oedipus without clear proof. That's an enlightened, civilized culture
speaking. Although Tiresias has given them a clear victim to scapegoat and sacrifice,
they refuse. "No, not til I see these charges proved will I side with his
accusers."

Episode (2):
pp. 990-98

Here Oedipus and
Creon clash. Oedipus is the voice of passionate rage, while Creon is the voice
of reason and calm. They joust for position and power, Oedipus convinced that
Creon is plotting with Tiresias to discredit his name and reputation. But Creon
insists on reason, using logic at every opportunity. "Hear me out, then
judge me on the facts." He counters Oedipus' rage with reason: "Look,
if you think crude, mindless stubbornness such a gift, you've lost your sense
of balance" (1003). He tries to convince Oedipus there's no logical reason
why he should want to plot to overthrow the king when he's got such power and
influence already, with less responsibility (p. 1004). "How wrong it is
to take the good for bad, purely at random or take the bad for good." Here
Creon stumbles on the truth about Oedipus, unawares. Thebes has been taking
the bad for the good. But Oedipus isn't persuaded, although the Chorus is, and
they defend him, or Oedipus would have struck him dead-a very tyrannical thing
to do. When Creon declares that Thebes is "My city too, not yours alone!"-that
would have resounded loud and clear in democratic Athens when the play was written.
Creon parts with a strong jab: "It's perfect justice: natures like yours
are hardest on themselves." Character determines fate.

When Jocasta enters,
trying to placate and reassure Oedipus, a disturbing fact emerges. Laius was
killed at the "place where three roads meet"-a place where Oedipus
knows he murdered an entire traveling party before arriving at Thebes. And while
he begins to put two and two together we see how he nobly presses on in search
of the truth, even if it's self-incriminating. He doesn't try to save himself.
He's after the truth. And he's honest with Jocasta about his past. He tells
her about his flight from Delphi and from Corinth, and we can see how easily
he'd been pierced by his lack of knowledge about who he really is. When he hears
the prophecy about killing his father and marrying his mother, he runs. (And
who wouldn't?) "Running, always running toward some place where I would
never see the same of all those oracles come true. Oedipus is running from fate,
his "destiny." He wants desperately to create his own destiny.

Jocasta is not
as noble as Oedipus, she's a much lesser figure as she tries desperately to
find a loophole where she can hide from the truth. Furthermore, she has no respect
for the oracles, whereas Oedipus is terrified of them. "So much for prophecy.
It's neither here nor there." In the next episode she gets even more blasphemous.

Chorus - Second
Stasimon (p. 999)

This is a beautiful
choral ode, filled with poetry. Its opening lines have such a ring to them .
"Destiny guide me always " The Chorus expresses reverence for
the gods, for the destiny they've handed us. Let me accept my fate, is the prayer
the Chorus sings here. It's what Oedipus will soon do valiantly, heroically.
"Pride breeds the tyrant ." the chorus continues. Human beings
who think they are above fate, above destiny, above the gods, will soon fall,
as the tyrant falls, "headlong pride crashes down the abyss-sheer doom!
No footing helps, all foothold lost and gone, but the healthy strife that makes
the city strong-I pray that god will never end that wrestling: god, my champion,
I will never let you go."

No person can strut
"high and mighty" having "no fear of justice, no reverence for
the temples of the gods." This isn't a comment on Oedipus so much as an
expression of the peoples' underlying belief. Several things have been called
into question by now: Apollo's oracles have been defied, not once but twice!
That is unholy behavior. The Chorus does not approve, but at the same time it
is observing carefully to see whether there will be a consequence for such blasphemous
behavior. If people abandon faith in Apollo's oracles, where will the people
look to for justice and order in the world? If the oracles are dying, then the
"gods go down." This is a terrifying prospect for the faithful. The
Chorus expresses this dilemma.

Episode (3):
pp. 1000-1008

Jocasta prays at
Apollo's altar. This is both hypocritical and ironic, and further undermines
her nobility. Jocasta has never shown much respect for the Apollo, or his oracles.
Now she is praying to him? Once the messenger arrives, seeming to refute the
oracle, she'll deliver a significant speech that underscores her impious view
(p. 1014): "Fear? What should a man fear? It's all chance, chance rules
our lives." In the context of this play, Jocasta is wrong, it turns out,
but her assertion still rings in our ears today. How much of what we experience
is preordained? How much of it is chance? These questions are still raised by
people all across the spectrum in the Western world, by people as different
as physicists and priests.

There's a lot of
self-interest in this play, along with all the altruism. Even the messenger
is hoping to improve his lot by bringing the good news that Corinth wants to
make Oedipus king. In his haste to convince Oedipus that it's safe to come home,
he lets a few facts drop that Oedipus devours. He closely interrogates the messenger
(we see his quick intelligence as he immediately puts things together). As Jocasta
sees the horrible truth emerging she tries one last time to get Oedipus to hide
from it, but he refuses. In agony, realizing how wrong she's been, how horrible
her fate, she kills herself (we learn soon).

The Shepherd says
that Oedipus was "born for pain." Small part, big line. Was Oedipus'
destiny set before he was born, or did he create his own fate? Does he find
himself in this predicament because of his own choices, his own abilities, or
did the gods just blithely preordain his destiny, and he never had a chance?
It's one of the most provocative questions the play raises. Ultimately it affirms
the religious order; but we are left wondering

When Oedipus learns
the truth, it "bursts" into light. Knowledge is characterized as a
burst of light which contrasts the darkness of ignorance. What does he do with
this new self-knowledge? He puts out his eyes, in a terrifying scene we'll see
later. Why does Oedipus blind himself and not commit suicide as Jocasta did?
It's his act of will. He refuses to relinquish his freedom to make his own destiny.
In that one act, Oedipus proves he is a free man who in fact creates his own
way.

Chorus - Third
Stasimon (p. 1008-09)

Humanity must suffer.
Joy is a dimly lit illusion, a vision, a phantasm. The truth, when it dawns,
blazes illusion to oblivion. Poetry!

Oedipus exemplifies
human suffering, human misery-his life is the great example to the rest of us.
Even the "best of men" can be destroyed by fate.

Oedipus had been
an inspiration, but now thinking about him brings only darkness; we struggle
to understand what to make of it all.

Exodus (pp.
1009-1017)

We learn of the
catastrophe--the point in the play were the suffering is the greatest. Jocasta
kills herself and Oedipus brutally rakes out his own eyes. It's a disgusting,
terrifying, pitiful scene, just as Aristotle says. We're at the moment of catharsis.
The Chorus expresses our pity and fear (p. 1024), as Oedipus describes how he's
created for himself a fate worse than death.